Another One's Treasure
by FadedRose
Summary: It's the trio's seventh year at Hogwarts, and nothing seems to be the same. The headmistress has suddenly lost her calm demeanor, all the new teachers are aurors for some reason, the last horcrux is still missing, and Hermione is having trouble sleeping,


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, all characters, settings, and somewhat plot credit goes to Joan Katherine Rowling. I merely wrote this little fic. :)**

**Ron's POV**

Tap, tap, tap...

"Ron..."

Tap, tap, tap...

"RON."

Tap, tap ta-

"Hey! Give that back!"

Hermione held the quill out of Ron's reach as he lunged for it. She looked unapprovingly at the ink-splattered table. "You haven't even started your essay yet! How do you expect to pass with decent N.E.W.Ts if you don't even have the patience to write a single essay?"

Ron made another grab for the quill, but merely succeeded in causing Hermione to put it into a pocket of her jumper. He scowled and crossed his arms.

_Great. Can't go in THERE without getting slapped..._

"Do you want your quill back now?"

"Yes."

"Will you promise to stop that obnoxious racket?_"_

"Not a chance," he replied stubbornly, with a cheeky grin.

Hermione huffed loudly and scooted further away from him on the common room sofa, being careful to not disturb a snoozing Crookshanks. She then picked up her own nearly completed essay and continued working without a glance at Ron. He let a few minutes of silently watching Hermione slave over her essay pass before he became bored again.

"I'll be needing my quill back, about now."

Hermione looked up at him through narrowed eyes. "I suppose that you should somehow acquire one elsewhere, then. Because I'm not all that keen on giving this one back."

Ron groaned loudly in annoyance, causing a disgruntled Crookshanks to glare at him through yellow eyes. _Different approach, then._ "Well, do you know where Harry is?"

"I know that he SHOULD be here completing his homework like we... well... like I am. But I have a pretty good idea of where he might be, although I don't really think you want me to tell you."

Before he could open his mouth to retort, he realized just what Hermione was talking about and dropped that subject. He did NOT want to even HEAR the words "Somewhere with Ginny". He didn't mind in the least bit that they were... together. It was more the fact that he really had no intention of knowing exactly what they DID together. That was Harry's business. If it was any other girl, he wouldn't mind hearing the details, but... well... his sister. That was a different matter. And Ron was pretty sure that Harry agreed with him, seeing as though he had not tried to give any details.

It was strange, really. After what happened at Dumbledore's funeral not a year ago, Ron figured that Harry was so determined to eliminate You-Know-Who that he wouldn't even think twice about his decision over Ginny. He was a brave one, Ron had to give him that. Ginny was practically the only thing that had made him remotely happy. But somehow at Bill and Fleur's wedding Hermione had managed to convince Harry that he was being a stupid git and that Voldemort was after them all anyway and so it didn't even make a difference all that much if Harry was snogging her or not (not in those exact words, obviously. Ron couldn't even begin to picture Hermione saying something like that at a time like that). Somehow, Ginny's love was a huge part of Harry's strength, and the prat finally got around to realizing it.

Ron sighed audibly and tore his gaze from the fireplace to look at Hermione. And what, exactly, was going on with the two of them, anyway? Ron couldn't even tell anymore. He fancied her, that was for sure. But did she fancy him back?

_Course not, _he glumly reminded himself, _she's way too occupied with sending letters to that dim-witted hook-nosed Bulgarian-speaking pretty boy. Why in the name of Godric Gryffindor would she pay even the slightest bit of attention to me- in a matter different from arguing- when she's got him to send letters to?_ Well, at least that arguing part was only half true. They'd been quite civilized towards one another ever since the wedding.

The wedding. Ron felt his Adam's apple bob up and then down just thinking about it. She had looked insanely beautiful, hadn't she? Carnation pink robes. Her normally curly, somewhat wild and bushy hair tamed to the extreme and cascading down her shoulders and part of her back in elegant ringlets. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her for even a second, and he had a pretty good idea she had noticed due to all the times she had caught him staring at her, making his whole face resemble the pink in her dress. Then again, she had blushed, as well.

Had he really asked her to dance? How had he managed to do that? He couldn't even remember. He _could_ remember holding her to him, praying a thousand times that he wouldn't step on her feet or that she wouldn't feel his left shoulder and right hand shaking slightly beneath her hands. Merlin, he had been nervous. More so than when Lavender had been screaming at him in sixth year. The nervous state he was in with Hermione was more of an excited nervous that made his stomach go insane and his head rush with blood. The nerve racking situation with Lavender was the prospect of her hitting him, or possibly screaming louder than she had already been. All in all, he found he was on good terms with the nervousness being around Hermione brought upon him.

'You have to tell her, Ron."

That was exactly what Ginny had said to him when she caught him staring at Hermione while she was talking to his father, perhaps about Muggle contraptions. He had hardly moved from the white lawn chair he had been sitting in for the entire night.

He had replied to Ginny's comment with a blush and a weak, stammered denial that he knew not what she was talking about. Of course he did, and Ginny had said so, too, but he wasn't about to admit it, not to anyone. Besides, he _had_ tried. He had asked her to dance with him, remember? And how in the world was he supposed to talk to her about something like that when she was all pressed up against him and his tongue was in such a state of disarray that he only nodded and shook his head when Hermione tried to strike up a conversation?

Who was he fooling? He wasn't smooth with words. He wasn't a good Quidditch player. He didn't have a hooked nose or thick eyebrows. And he was certain he wasn't Bulgarian. Mostly the only thing he was certain of was that he fancied her like mad, and that wasn't good for much of anything, seeing as though he was too proud to do anything about it. What if she rejected him?

Ron felt his eyes become dry and blinked a few times, his gaze refocusing on Hermione. Her head was resting in her hand and her eyes were half closed, causing her writing to still every few seconds until she regained her composure. She was leaning dangerously low over the table, the fire casting shadows over her tired face.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I think you should go to bed."

Her back straightened and a look of annoyance briefly crossed over her facial features, making it evident that she didn't want to be told what to do. But it passed in a moment, and her guard dropped like it so often did when she was around just Ron or Harry. She sighed knowingly and pushed some hair away from her face.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. It's nearly ten thirty." She glanced at her watch a second time and then looked at the fire quizzically. "Wonder where those two are, anyway."

She had mumbled that last sentence to herself and didn't specify who the 'those two' were, but Ron instantly felt himself become bothered with the fact that they were still out somewhere. Before he could express his extreme disapproval, Hermione spoke.

"Ron!" she breathed, exasperated, looking down at his blank parchment. "You haven't even _tried _to figure it out!" She sat down on the sofa next to him, then grabbed the parchment and the quill she had confiscated and shoved them at him. "This is due _tomorrow_!"

"_What!_" How could it be due the very next day without him even having the slightest notion? "No it's not! Tonks said Friday!"

"Tomorrow IS Friday, you idiot! Maybe if you payed more attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts, you would be aware of when assignments are DUE!"

Ron felt his blood boil in his veins, a sure symptom that he was getting ready to yell back a retort. Hermione noticed this, of course, and beat him to the chase.

"What have you been DOING while I was working on my essay? It's been nearly an hour since I took your quill, have you even gone to get a new one? She assigned us TWO FEET of parchment, Ron! You don't really expect to get an entire essay done without nodding off, do you? What were you thi-"

"I'll have you know, I was doing something much more worth while than this useless waste of time called homework! Oh, I'm SO SORRY, I forgot, homework is your FAVORITE PASTIME! Didn't mean to OFFEND you!" This, of course, was blatantly untrue.

Hermione stood angrily from the sofa and sucked in a huge breath. Ron was on his feet right after her, towering a good head taller than her. "Oh, you're... you're INFURIATING! Tell me then, WHAT in the name of MERLIN were you doing, Ronald Weasley? And it better be a VERY GOOD excuse!"

Ron opened his mouth, but faltered as he realized he didn't have anything to say. What would he tell her, anyway? He could just see it now. _I was staring at you and thinking about our non-existent relationship. When is that going to happen, anyway? I've fancied you for AGES... _No. This was not the time to humiliate himself completely. This was a time for salvaging what was left of his ego before Hermione crushed it beneath her heel with some large insults he didn't understand and couldn't possibly fight back to for lack of a vocabulary.

"Well... er..." Ron wracked his brain for excuses. What had he not already used on her? Hermione's hair framed her face in a wild, oddly exhilarating way, her cheeks pink and her eyes filled with satisfaction as her lips curved into a smirk.

"I thought so. You don't even HAVE an excuse, do you?" She crossed her arms over her chest and thrummed her fingers on her elbow.

He needed to say something to take her completely by surprise, that was for sure. He would NOT let her win, not this time. No 'Vicky' comments, those were way over-used on his part. No 'bookworm' ones, either. She usually seemed to laugh in his face when he tried those. And he certainly was not going to go all the way and tell her that she cared more about studies than she did he and Harry. The last thing he wanted to do was make her burst into tears and run out of the common room again. What was even left? Well. He could try honesty. But didn't that count as an ego-blower? He WAS a seventeen year old bloke, after all. Those were not tolerated, especially when he brought it upon himself.

_Partial honesty. That sounds good. _

"Well... no."

"Excuse me?"

"No excuse, Hermione." He smirked and crossed his own arms over his chest. "Do you remember what 'no' means? Or would you like me to get you a dictionary? Thought you spent a lot of time with those, they're some of your best mates, right?"

Hermione was positively livid, that much was blatantly obvious. He hadn't really meant to say the dictionary thing, but it kind of slipped out. Things like that seemed to happen when he was arguing with her.

Ron was ready for her to yell something at him. He was bracing himself for her to suck in all her breath again and use a long stream of insults he only half understood. He waited for her to maybe even start to cry, or run up to her dormitory, or perhaps throw an ink bottle at him (though she had never attempted this before, unless you count canaries). But he was not prepared when she walked right up to him as calmly as can be and stood a mere inch or two away from him, her face tilted towards his so she could look him dead in the eye. Her face lost its angry expression as she stared into his eyes, the effect so nauseating on Ron that he uncrossed his arms and nervously swiped his palms on the sides of his uniform pants.

After what seemed like hours she spoke, so softly that Ron could hardly hear her.

"I'm not going to fight with you anymore."

Her gold-brown eyes turned glassy all of a sudden as if she would cry, and Ron's stomach plummeted a thousand feet. Before he could even try to come up with an apology, she turned on her heel and walked swiftly up to the seventh year girls' dormitory, not bothering to gather her things and leaving Ron to stand alone in the dark common room, completely flabbergasted.

"Hermione?" he called out weakly, listening to the retreating footsteps. They stopped for a moment, as if Hermione was deciding whether to come down or not, then quickened their pace. A moment later Ron heard a door softly close somewhere above him.

He groaned rather loudly and slunk down into a large chair near the fireplace, Hermione's words ringing in his ears.

_I'm such a prat_.

**Next chapter soon... R&R please! Next chapter should be longer, and don't worry, a plot is developing ;)**


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